


Pile Up

by jenni3penny



Series: McAvoys 1.0 [5]
Category: Studio 60 on the Sunset Strip, The Newsroom (US TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-06
Updated: 2017-09-27
Packaged: 2018-12-24 16:28:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,142
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12016626
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jenni3penny/pseuds/jenni3penny
Summary: Another flashback from 'Act of Violence'. At a conference in Atlanta, Will & Mac, pre-series. "Under Jordan's over-confident influence (rather, actually, just drunken instigation) MacKenzie is a whole new creature, one he's not sure he's entirely equipped to handle on the fly."





	1. Chapter One

**Author's Note:**

> Mostly for 'whufc', who seemingly enjoys reading the flashback scenes nearly as much as I enjoy writing them. XOXO  
> Rating will likely change for Chapter Two. Also? Maxie's Supper Club is not in Atlanta, but it *is* most excellent.

Under Jordan's over-confident influence (rather, actually, just drunken instigation) MacKenzie is a whole new creature, one he's not sure he's entirely equipped to handle on the fly. She's seemingly five, maybe seven, years younger suddenly and laughing as he catches her against him, draws her up flush by her wrist and stops her on the sidewalk just so that he can study unbridled happiness and the exact curvature of her grinning. There's an unearthed miracle in the natural mathematics, the precise schematics, of her smile.

He's got so much to learn about her still and this exuberance, this particular liveliness... it's so sensual and heady and... fucking sexy. Winsome and wanton and she's gonna kill him one of these nights. She's brazen, bright and wild, and she's yet to otherwise kiss him half as suggestively as she does on a street corner in Atlanta, when the night is sweat-hot muggy and she already tastes like bottom shelf whiskey and pilfered nicotine. Both her hands are buried deep in his back pockets and she's pulling his groin closer into her as she wiggles up his front, her mouth warm and damp as it kisses up the side of his neck.

“What the fuck has gotten into you?”

“Well, not you tonight,” she sounds pouty, intentionally a little petulant but somehow also hopeful and he laughs despite himself. “ _Yet_.”

“ _MacKenzie_ ,” he warns, keeping his voice as balanced as possible when she's purposely rubbing against his cock and doing every damn thing she can with her hips to get him hard(er than he already is). It's still damn early for him to be spending the rest of the evening walking around half-mast and unable to swallow.

“Mmm,” she hums against his cheek before her hand catches his jaw and she turns her lips to the corner of his mouth. “I fucking love it when you say my name that way. It's really _very_ sexy.”

She kisses him slowly and he imagines it's because she knows she slays him dead with slow kisses, most especially when she starts twining her long fingers in his hair and tugging through it. Which is exactly why he cuts the kiss shorter than she'd meant, nipping on her bottom lip to soothe the pause and playfully catch her glance. Her fingers soothe down his temple and follow the ridge of his orbital bone, right below his left eye and... fuck. He's lost to her, really. She's likely getting anything she wants by the end of the night.

Will squints at her with supposed accusation, “What is it about Jordan that gets you like this? You've been a lunatic since we stepped off the plane.”

“You've loved every minute.” Her lips brush his with one last pass and then she kisses him chastely, the hand on his cheek lifting to teasingly ruffle into his hair in a way that she well knows annoys the shit out of him... _and_ makes him swoon. “Jordan always just reminds me that being the token _girl_ is more than just acceptable – it's often preferable.”

“Is that code for something Sapphic?”

She gives him a shrewd look as she steps away, lashes dipping and lips pressing pert as she side-eyes him and snorts. “Nice try, darling.”

“Can't blame a guy,” he shrugs hard as she moves farther away, voice low and nearly lost under the sudden run of traffic going by them. After a moment he steps into following her, looping against her waist because she seems perfectly fine with public affection and has since they got to Georgia. Apparently being away from headquarters gives them more than just a little leniency because she's pulled him closer more often than pushed them apart.

He tugs her back a bit, loops her up closer to slow her gait and lays his lips gently against her temple without censure. And instead of just continuing on up the sidewalk, away from the hotel and conference, she swings back up him again with the lightest breath of laughter before she kisses him again. And, damn it, the woman is going to get the both of them nailed by the nearest passing vehicle and/or end up dumping them into a sweaty pile on the less than even sidewalk.

“ _Mac_ ,” he groans onto her tongue, feeling his stomach go hot and tight and coiled.

“Come to my room tonight, McAvoy. Stay with me,” she murmurs lazily against his mouth, ending the kiss and stretching her shoulders back slowly. She's testing his hold around her waist, testing her own trust in him as she shakes her ponytail back and laughs. He hugs against her hips and tucks her closer, bracing his feet flat to balance his weight as she digs her hands into shirt sleeves and lets her head drop back too.

“Don't you have an assigned roommate?” Will leans his shoulders a bit farther away from hers as ballast, grinning as she blatantly lifts one foot against his calf and her boot heel digs against denim.

He's fucking mad for this woman in his arms, if he's honest with himself.

He can't help enjoying just touching her, being touched by her, being the man she's clasped onto in the evening streetlights and nightlife and swampy heat.

It makes him feel younger, more alive than he has in years.

Actually... Mac makes him feel alive in a way he just plain _hasn't_ , in _ever_.

“It's not summer camp, Will. I requested a single when I registered.” She's laughing through the words, pulling herself back flush up the length of him as Jordan catches up to them, her newly minted husband in tow behind her and obviously enjoying it because he's laughing. Will just barely catches sight of them passing by before Mac plonks another kiss on him that's brisk but beautiful in how spontaneous it is. “But come to dinner first? We're off to Maxie's.”

“Have the two of you attended the conference at all?”

She flutters him a genuinely confused (and supposedly innocent) look even as he steps forward, his palms rising and bracing around her waist so that he can guide her blind back-stepping. “The two of us? You mean Jordan and I?”

“Kenzie! Come on! I've only got the reservation til eight fifteen!”

Right... he could do without Jordan's intercessions from afar, actually.

Because every one of them scrapes on him at the most inopportune moments.

Because she tends to get right in the way of him getting anywhere with MacKenzie, at least when it comes to really talking to her or really getting serious. The woman's a formidable cock-block in expensive heels and near haute couture. Jordan makes him feel like Nebraska is four planets away and McKenzie's the sun and, in all actuality, he shouldn't even be making an attempt at sustained orbit.

But then... he thinks that's probably exactly how every woman's friends should make a new guy feel, right at the beginning, just to shake out the weak-willed or poor-intentioned.

They're not necessarily at the beginning, though.

It's just that Jordan's got some catch-up to do.

“Please come?” She asks it quietly as she turns in his arms, waving off Jordan's harassment so that she can tuck into his side and settle the nervy speeding of his heart. His annoyance with McDeere's interruption dies quickly as Mac's hand goes back into his left back pocket, just tucked there as she leans her head into him and they walk slowly, suddenly separate from the world. “Live a little tonight, Nebraska. I think you'll like it.”

She doesn't use that nickname all that often but this time it's especially warm and loving. Maybe she wasn't all that happily comfortable with her friend's interruption either.

Because she leans closer and tucks them together against any further possible interruption. She makes a near full circle against him, left hand in his back pocket and right hand catching the fabric of his shirt in a way that proclaims him utterly hers for at least the near future and he's surprised by how strongly he appreciates that movement from her. It's something he hadn't even realized he'd been missing.

And, so, right... time to stop pretending they aren't dating.

Time to stop hiding this from co-workers and colleagues and all.

Because he's not entirely sure he can go back to not having her hold him just because of who might see them.

He nuzzles into her hair and cuddles her up closer into his side, ignoring how hot-sweated the both of them are just so that he can grit his voice up and gravel it down for her at once. “I could happily go down on you right here, right now, McHale.”

“You couldn't really,” she accuses, head lifting sharply.

“No,” he chuckles as he shakes his head, his hand lifting to give just a light and teasing tug on her pony tail because, fuck, her giddy energy is infectious. “Not right out here on the sidewalk, no.”

“I didn't think so.” Right, she's perfected the McHale pout while walking and, admittedly, it's adorable. “But any old alleyway could do.”

He laughs easily and wonders at how often she makes him laugh so abruptly, how often she makes him chuckle at his desk, over the IFB, or just... while making their morning coffee, even. “Goddamn it, MacKenzie.”

“I think...” she answers near dreamily, quiet under the wind rush of a passing car, “Maybe it's okay to sort of fall for a man when you're on vacation together? Make sense?”

He hadn't once considered this a vacation for the two of them but he thinks on it a moment and she did spend a whole slew of time planning things out and babbling in his ear about it. For weeks, actually.

She did forward him her flight schedule and hotel confirmation and he'd just gamely nodded when she'd suggested things, events and places (in fact, the name Maxie's _did_ sound fairly familiar).

She had registered him herself, actually - because he'd put it off and delayed and been lazy to the brink of her frustration. Rather, she'd been the one to have one of the interns register him, telling her to just make sure that the ' _hulking moron_ ' ended up in Atlanta.

“Not in the least.” He grabs her face up as he pauses, thumb and forefinger lifting at her chin so that he can catch the multi-hued look she's giving him, one that's bemused and damningly charming. “What are you implying?”

Because ' _sort of_ ' falling for a man can mean so much more than one thing, possibly not positive things... and he's not at all sure how to take it, really. Especially when coming from MacKenzie McHale, a woman he finds inscrutable and unreadable sometimes when it comes to emotions. She just goes blank-paper and pale on him and he has absolutely no fucking clue what's going on in that magnificent brain of hers. Confrontation, with Mac and in regards to them together, usually leads to her calling him something especially British in origin and then moving them backwards on the relationship map rather than forwards. He's stalled up on pushing at her, just for his own mental preservation.

Mac just shrugs on a sigh, lets him hold her face up toward his while she fidgets and fingers the fabric of his shirt. “Why aren't we just sharing a room, Will?”

Well, obviously because he's a great _hulking moron_ and he can't decipher a woman's unspoken intentions any better at forty something than he did at twenty two, or thirty two, or... well, ever. He's always been pretty bad at that, actually. Well, when it comes to the emotional stuff. Sexual cues he's got. They don't _usually_ fail him.

“I didn't wanna make presumptions and I wasn't sure how you'd feel about full-on gristing the Rumor Mill, so to speak. Not that I give a fuck about it, mind you.” He schools his voice to totally serious, feels it fall square into the mid-zone of ' _Professional Television News Anchor_ ' and he can swear, she near grins as it happens. “You also had an intern make the reservation and for as bright as she is... well, she may not be entirely aware that you and I have no problem sharing a shower.”

“But you didn't ask to - ”

“I _cannot_ read your mind, MacKenzie.” He's stopped and jerked still on the sidewalk and there's a look of surprised confusion on her face that he both hates and appreciates. It's not like he wants to stall them up for this sort of bullshit but the woman infuriates him sometimes and this very thing, this... It's starting to pile up on him, like car after car hitting the next in line on the highway. All that force is just getting blocked up in his chest and reverberating over and over again. Thump and smash and thud and he's getting to the point where it's impossible to breathe deeply. “And I won't push you. You've made some things pretty damn clear. If you want - ”

“I do,” she tells him, nodding sharply as she reaches toward him and tugs at his shirt with the closest to pleading he thinks he'll probably see on her. She sincerely draws him forward again with a slow nodding promise and leans them into walking again as she curls against his arm. “I want you with me, Billy. Switch rooms.”

He exhales hard as her fingers rub the inside of his elbow, both her hands still wrapped on his arm and her shoulder pushing his with the rhythm of their steps. Another sigh comes off him as she lets her head tip closer and he's got her hair under his nose and can't even fucking pay attention to where he's walking, let alone any of the crap that just falls out of his mouth around her. “I _hate_ hiding this at home.”

“So we won't anymore,” she whispers as she looks up at him, her left hand dropping down his arm to catch onto his right he catches her fingers, laces them in his.

“Jordan's gonna tell you that you're not thinking clearly. Especially when it comes to work.” He knows that it's also a legitimate concern for her, though. Jordan _should_ tell her than he's a mistake. Hell, _she's_ already told him that he's her worst mistake. She's got a lot at stake if she starts walking around wearing a proverbial ' _I Fucked Will McAvoy_ ' shirt. There's no way she salvages the seriousness of her career in journalism if they aren't very, _very_ , careful about making sure people understand that they're serious about each other. He intends to make sure the world knows how serious he is about her. If that's what it takes.

Because he can afford to look like the Hot Shot that nailed the pretty Executive Producer.

(Hell, it'd probably help him out in some demographics – males between 18-25? _Pssssh_.)

She can't afford to look like she'll fuck her way where she needs to go, though.

(They'll make meat out of her and a gloried and gory lion's den of themselves.)

“Jordan doesn't know you as well as I do.” Mac shrugs one shoulder but her face is clouded when he looks down and probably because she's thinking that same thoughts he is. “She's just protecting me.”

That dings his pride, whips at him sharper than expected and he feels his own shoulders stack higher in defensive reflex. He feels his entire chest fire up with heat, with desire and anger at once. Because if _anyone_ should feel the need to protect her... “Well, I'd like to take over that job, if you'll let me.”

He thinks she's probably a little taken with his words because she sucks in a breath and he can hear it, even over the passing traffic. And it's a gulping moment before that I'm-An-Independent-Woman response gets (pretty lazily) kicked back at him. “I'm not just some - ”

“They're gonna be fucking cruel, Mac. They're in television. It's pretty much a given,” he tells her bluntly, no softness and all reality. “Will you let me handle the petty stuff? I want you thinking all the bigger, better things. You be the brains and motivation. I'll be the charming and affable 'Fuck You'.”

He gets the laugh he expected but he also gets a look from her as she stops that is closer to MacKenzie-In-Love than he knows MacKenzie-In-Lust looks like and he feels his smile go sheepish, feels himself nearly flush as she stares at him.

“How do you always know how to say exactly the right things?” she asks as he disentangles them, pressing her to stay as he steps up to the large mahogany door and gives the giant brassy and discolored handle a heaving tug. It gives easier than he expected and he just waves the other hand at her, implying she should go first.

A shrug takes control of his shoulders and he huffs a sigh through his nose, “Honey, I really think it's just that the things I say are now being said to exactly the right person.”

“What the...?!” She literally stomps her foot and he can't help but chuckle, still holding the door open as she lifts her open hands at him as though he's an example of something. “ _See_?”

 _God_ , she makes him laugh.

There's just not another woman in the world as sexy at being silly as MacKenzie McHale.

“Mac, get in there before your friend's head explodes because we're late.”


	2. It's the Fall That's Gonna Kill Ya

Maybe it _is_ more vacation than he'd assumed it would be (considering he hadn't imagined it a vacation at all, really).

But he realizes he should have known it, because she'd claimed the corner of the round and spacious booth for them in seconds flat and she's got her legs across his lap as she laughs over the table and leans back. Her whiskey and ginger is palmed against her lower abdomen and he could swear (for as short as it is) the skirt has ten times more flow and flounce than most any of her others. Especially when he's just fingering the hem of it, rubbing the ridge of folded fabric against the inside of one slender knee. The full press of his palm covers her knee and he tickles his fingertips up underneath it, enjoying the silkiness and the reaction she gives him.

He grins when she jumps in surprise, a huff passing her lips before she wiggles in her seat. She sits up more and leans her upper body closer. Will just lifts his left arm in response while Jordan laughs and leans into the opposite side of the table. She and her husband (he's honestly already forgotten the other man's name and he's pretty sure it's something that's going to re-occur) are both trying to tell a story about one of the first times they met and Will is only half listening. He's lulled by the way MacKenzie's head leans against his upper arm and the scent of gingered whiskey and cold cold ice rises on him along with the soothing smell of her perfume just low and barely there.

“If this is shared vacation, you'll let me pay for dinner,” he murmurs into her hair as the waitress delivers another drink for McDeere's other half, interrupting their story and distracting them among themselves.

Mac makes a noise in her throat as she sucks at her little black straw. After a moment she lifts her head on a sudden and minuscule shake of disagreement. “You pay for dinner and I'll get the drinks.”

Will just squints at her, debating how far he can push the argument before she either gives in or actually gets annoyed, her eyes going toward steel gray and squallish. “I wanna take care of you tonight, Kenz.”

“She doesn't necessarily need taking care of in my estimation.” Jordan's voice is arch and dry and obviously intended to make him feel about two millimeters tall. _Fuck that_ , he thinks instantly. Bitter, vitriolic woman... Mac knows, she just damn well _knows_ , that's not at all how he meant it. She _has_ to know. He meant it to be sweet and he meant it to be loving and for Jordan to twist into something misogynistic, chauvinistic, or just plain disrespectful is - “Just an observation.”

 _Oh, fuck that_. “Y'know - ”

“ _Easy_ ,” Mac murmurs in warning, letting it rise up between them over the table as her hand smooths against his jaw and he's nearly jumps in surprise at the gentling touch, “the both of you. She's just watching out for me, Will.”

He's blindly staring into the center of the table as Jordan goes back to chatting with _WhatHisName_ and Will forces himself to exhale slowly, his jaw near wrenched from how tightly he's holding it. “She's aware that we've been dating for - ”

“Months, yes,” MacKenzie answers as Jordan has already gotten distracted by their conversation across the table and Will can appreciate the break from her scrutiny. It's not like he's fucking auditioning for something. He certainly doesn't need her approval. “Please? Just... be _my_ Billy, huh? Please?”

“I have absolutely no idea what you mean by _your_ Billy,” he gripes back before realizing how rough his tone has gone. He forces himself to breathe, shaking his head as he catches Mac's glance and realizes her eyes are wider than usual and so he purposely softens himself. “That's no different than just me.”

Her shoulders sink a little at how much of a twinge there is to his tone, her thumb rubbing against his bottom lip to smooth things. “ _Billy_.”

“It's just me being me. She's the one being confrontational.”

“Please be kind.” Her whisper is hot on his ear as she leans in, warm and breathy and he feels the skin at the back of his neck go tight and his stomach drop to the floor. He's clouded in the smell of her and spiced up whiskey and he just wants to lay her flat and fuck her so damn slowly. The hell with Jordan McDeere and impressing a woman's friends just to score points. He doesn't need points with Mac. He hasn't yet. “Karma can be a tempestuous little thing and you know it. Be the kind and patient man I know you are and you'll be rewarded, I swear.”

He grunts and swallows, leaning closer to the soft and tender press of her lips against his temple, pursing his lips into silence as he lets his eyes close.

Kindness he can do... Patience (with her being her impish self and Jordan being spiteful) is questionable.

 

* * *

 

 

“If this is shared holiday,” … then he's well and truly fucked.

If this is anywhere near a shared vacation, he's indubitably screwed.

Because this particular woman can, at any given time, out-sass, out-last, out-sex, and out-smart him.

And she can sure _still_ do it while tipsy on one more whiskey ginger.

“If this is vacation...” she repeats against his ear, her head leaned so close to his that none of the others that have joined them can hear a fucking word over the din of too many drunken journalists in one booth space - and all debating politics while messily inhaling tapas. “If this is a shared - ”

“Honey,” he hums and takes her hand into his and makes a point of rubbing his thumb between her knuckles, making it seem sweet rather than just curbing the fact that she's pretty insistent about stroking his cock through his jeans and.... well, while he's all for it conceptually, this audience is less than ideal, “you've said it three times now.”

He's hard as hell and she knows it and even as he catches the arched brow look Jordan gives him from across the table he realizes that fighting Mac is absolutely pointless in situations like this. Pointless because she just wriggles her fingers free from his and leans tighter into his side, making it seem like she's snuggling into his chest while she wedges her palm back between his legs. She's stubborn and mischievous and in an extraordinarily good mood.

“Shut it,” she kisses against his jaw and palms the half erection, a humming of approval low in her throat as she squeezes him. “I'm making a point.”

“You're adorable,” he freely admits, knowing it's obvious how smitten he is just by way of saying it. He really doesn't much care at this stage, though. Especially when she's only likely to remember half of it in the morning _and_ she's essentially got his dick in the palm of her hand, quite literally. “Whiskey drunks are more fun than wine drunks with you.”

“Oh, you've really no idea, Billy.” She's being sorta sultry without realizing it but she's also verging on too much to drink so she can't help but come off as cute as all hell too and he just exhales hard.

“Mac.” he starts, his body startling slightly as her fingers insistently stroke him through his pants, “ _MacKenzie_.”

“Just like that.” Her lips brush the shell of his ear at the same time she drags down his zipper and something about the world jars a little to the right as he blinks.

She's so goddamn close, teasing the fabric of his boxers through the opening of his pants and then between her fingers. Her whisper is hot damp and low against his ear, all sensuality and MacKenzie, _his MacKenzie_. The one he gets to hear alone, moaning against the side of his neck as he forces her faster or roughs them up harder. “I get so wet when you say it like that.”

 _Dead_. She's gone and killed him fucking dead in the brain. Gray matter is gone matter. Because he can't think properly, even as the guy to his right hands over a full basket of rolls and plops it between them at the table. He can't even remember the man's name despite the fact they were introduced less than an hour before. His brain is absolute mush.

She gets her fingers into his pants, past the open zipper and past his boxers and... “ _Fuck_. Mac.”

Her hand is warm and closed comfortably around him, not too tight but just enough to lean pressure on him and he can feel the responding throb all up and down the length of his cock. She can't give him a proper hand job like this and the both of them know it. That doesn't keep her from teasing his erection, rubbing soft-touch fingertips up the underside of his length. Or teasing the head with her thumb before squeezing down on him. She doesn't put too much friction to him, just enough of a touching to taunt him, to make him groan as he swallows oxygen down into his lungs - or tries to, anyhow.

She's... _Sweet Jesus Christ_... Anderson Cooper's switcher is literally pressed into his right side and on the left is Mac McHale, penultimate professional in regards to producing television and a highly ethical journalist to boot.

Extra-curricular talents...? Under the table hand jobs, it seems.

Because she's bold drunk and doesn't give a fuck, apparently.

And he has to remind himself that the very reason she adores him the way she does is that in this type of situation, unlike Brenner (he assumes), he's the one that's going to stop her from doing what she's doing and be more concerned with her image and her career (while surrounded by journalists _and_ executives) than he is with getting his rocks off.

Will lifts the hand that had been stretched up behind her so that she could cuddle closer, using two fingers to brush her bangs out of her eyes before he looks down into his lap. “You have two options right now, hon.”

He can just barely see a flash of her wrist before the hem of the table cloth and she's brilliant, really. Because she's wedged them into a position that has his hips low enough in the booth that all anyone would be able to see is that she's got her hand one his leg, maybe, palm to his thigh. And otherwise he barely sees movement, just a flex in her wrist as she laughs quietly between them and buries her face into his chest.

Mac makes a hmmmph-ed noise into his shirt before shrugging and surreptitiously stroking his cock as much as she can without actually pulling it from inside his pants. She looks up with a more reserved smile, one brow arched in sudden determination. “I think I've many more than two, actually. Are you going to let me finish what I was saying?”

He nods his acquiescence. “Continue.”

Her eyes slim beautifully, back to that winter storm look of hers, whipping and sharp-needled. “If this is a holiday then shouldn't you be fucking me blind right now?”

Christ. She ought to come with a fucking warning label. Or a parachute.

Because it'll be the process of falling in love with this woman (at a ridiculously high speed) that truly kills him.

“Which was the suggested end of Option Two. You just didn't let me get to it,” Will counters as he brings his voice down quieter, more hushed and secretive and intentionally so as he catches Jordan angling farther over the table to try and parse their conversation. After a moment she just rolls her eyes and turns her head back to her husband. He laughs and realizes he's flushed hot and he's not sure if it's her hand or the drinks or both but it's probably time to get Mac's hand out from between his legs. They've likely pushed their luck well enough. “Which one of us is impatient?”

She laughs brightly against the side of his head in answer to his silly tone and the sound cures him of caring about anyone else in the wide fucking world as he draws her hand from between his legs and squeezes her fingers into his. He knots their hands together against his stomach as she sighs out the end of her humor. “The question, Billy, is which one of us is drunk?”

He just grins and he hears Jordan's laugh echo Mac's from across the table as she argues something (playfully) with her husband. And he wonders why she's isn't that loose and charismatic with him. Though, if he considers it... he doesn't necessarily like the idea of Mac being all that giggly and carefree sweet with _WhatsHisName_ either, so... fair's fair (no, seriously, what in the unholy fuck was the guy's name?).

“I'm sober enough. Lemme take you home.” It's awkward and he has to shift slightly to do it but he manages to get his zipper wedged at least half back up to where it belongs after loosening from her hold. He's gonna be walking funny but hopefully he can fake some tipsy and having to half scoop Mac from the booth with help cover the hard on too. Hopefully.

“We're six hundred forty miles from home, to be precise,” she tells him with a tone that's smart and exacting and sounds like one that probably pissed off most all her classmates when she was young and right more often than they were. “I'd likely be outta the mood and sleepy-headed by then.”

Sleepy-headed MacKenzie is a sight he so thoroughly enjoys, though... “Six hundred - why do you even _know_ shit like that?”

“I like details.” She grins and reaches for her glass, a pout rounding her lips up together as she realizes that most all she has left is dregs and melted ice. A sigh leaves her as she looks up, glass in hand. And it's just a moment as she looks at him, a moment before she forgets that supposed sadness and grins, her face lighting up as she looks him over, sees his doting smile. “And I really, _really_ , like you, Billy McAvoy. So much more than I should.”

He can't speak for a stunned surprised moment.

It's just... dead air. (This hadn't happened in the mental rundown.)

Nobody has full on called him _Billy McAvoy_ since he was young, very young, but it sounds sultry and threaded warm the way she says it. She has an accent on it that has him swooning and he sorta loves it.

And he can't save himself from being dumbfounded, not when she's not in his ear and prompting him along as to what comes next.

Her features go perplexed at his lack of response. “You _do_ believe me?”

“Of course I do, I just...” he stammers, shakes his head at it, the breath rushing out of him as he glances across the table to find one of her closest friends side-eyeing them with chiding interest. “I didn't expect that from you, is all.”

“Forget about what Jordan thinks,” she whispers his attention back, eyes clearer than expected as she touches his jaw and keeps him looking at her. In fact, the whole of her is more controlled and balanced than he'd expected and for a moment be just blinks at her, questioning how drunk she actually is or, rather, how good at covering she may be. It's a toss up between the two, really. “People are just going to think what they're going to think, Will. I'm not at all ashamed of being here, like this, with you. Not in the least.”

“That's it. I'm taking you on an actual vacation.” Will nods once, deciding it's time to go and especially when he sees her sleepily rub at her eyes and huff out a distractedly pouted sigh over her empty glass. “But right now I'm taking you back to the hotel.”

“Holiday,” she corrects blithely before sucking hard at her straw, making sucking noises at the bottom of her glass just to be a mischievous shit and get her friend to snort laughter across the table. Will just watches the two of them laugh together, sighing softly.

“What-the-fuck-ever, hon.”

He nudges at her, his touch gently before reaching around to poke at the associate producer that's wedged them into the booth, blocking their exit. The guy catches his intent and starts shifting up from the seat. Will forces her to slowly and carefully (because she's right at that level of buzzed that'll have her banging right into his erection if he doesn't guard himself) shift her legs down and he has her sitting up as she sadly leaves her empty glass to the chaotically messy table. He digs out his wallet and she's near immediately into it like a kid looking for ice cream money. She's teasing at him, picking out the ones slowly and stuffing them away until he chuckles in half feigned annoyance and clears his throat at her. His brow is arched, features blank as she peeks up at him, supposedly caught.

She grins, purposely stalling him in the seat even as the other man empties out of the large booth and Will hands her a hundred dollar bill, nodding toward Jordan quickly. "Just give her the hundred, Mac. Let's get outta here."

“You're my absolute favorite second-rate news anchor.”

“Mmmm.” He drops a kiss on her forehead before giving her a shove to the hip and nodding her out of the booth. “You'll be re-assessing that ' _second-rate_ ' dig in an hour, just wait.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sooooo... Chapter Three? Is a maybe?


	3. Wreckage

She's not stupid. She may be a bit pissed, a little too far over the line of drunken demarcation but, still... she's nowhere near simple. She has an excellently adroit brain and she makes use of it, _thankyouverymuch_. She's clever and sure, yes, she can tell when a man is in love with her.

Brian truly... isn't. He may never have been (probably hasn't ever). She thinks it possible that Brian is incapable of what she would consider romantic love, she always has. But for awhile she'd told herself that Brian being aloof or detached or emotionally inaccessible was exactly what made him so beautifully easy, so attractive to a woman who sometimes had problems relating to other human beings. Dealing with him should have been weightless, effortless, light. It should have given her strength in independence... Instead it always made her feel lonely and neglected, rejected.

And Will... really, actually, likely _is_ in love with her (for reasons yet surpassing understanding).

The heavy and unwieldy and unavoidable sort of love. Big-brick-wall-and-tall-blonde kind of love, immobile and unyielding. Blue-eyed-beautiful and with a voice that makes her ache between the legs when he's speaking so very gently, softly coaxing her closer. Closer to him, to truth, to coming, to just loving the sound of him near her. His voice has become... _God_...

When he hums, not realizing he's doing that _and_ her dishes at once...

He's unavoidable and so is the seemingly effortless way he adores her.

(And she's starting to realize how much she needs him in her life.)

“Sorry, sorry, hang on,” he mutters against the side of her head, sharply stilling their movements as she clings to the front of his shirt and giggles at him, unmoving as he tries as carefully as he can to un-knot her hair from the band of his watch. His fingers are nimble but his movements are slow and she can only imagine it's because he's near tipsy as she is and also far more patient in... well, everything. Especially prying the tangle of her hair from twisting in his watch band.

“Can't even have a shag up the door properly, can we?” she teases at him devilishly, making sure her smile is heard in her voice as she lets it roll into a laugh. “We're ridiculous, Billy.”

“Hopeless, maybe.” He ruffles his fingers through her hair after it's loosened and then lets both hands drop to her shoulders as he responds. Large palms affectionately squeeze on her shoulders as he pauses them and drops a kiss against her lips. “I'm also halfway to drunk and you're about six hundred forty miles outta sober.”

She spends some time mussing her fingers through his hair in answer, moaning as he reaches down and tucks her hips closer, rubbing her right into his hard on. “That's good mileage for one night, though?”

“Wait - you think I can't fuck you against this door?” He's suddenly very serious in asking, despite the fact that when her fingertips touch along his hairline he reflexively shivers. It leads to him reaching up to clasp her hands in his, lacing their fingers together and keeping her from touching more. His movements are still slow but far more purposeful and she forces herself to breath in and out slowly, just letting him shift her arms up on his shoulders before he strokes down the length of her.

He kisses her before she can really formulate an answer, slowly and intentionally long. It's always the way he kisses her that belies him, that tells the truth about how he feels. Which, she knows, could be said of any man. Of Brian, even. Because he can't hide behind aloof charm or News Anchor Charisma.

He can't hide behind his desk when he kisses her. He's gotta just be Will, his audience be damned.

It's one of the reasons she likes kissing him so much – the fact that he's always himself.

“I think you're always too much my Nebraska to ever just... I don't think you're capable, Will.” Her whisper is brushed just below his left orbital and and she feels him sigh in answer, clutches up closer to him to allay any concerns he may have that she's turned off by his tendency to be a little more... romantically conservative.

“Guess I am with you. A little too much Nebraska.”

“Just with me?” Mac teases at him, feeling her cheeks warm in an unexpected blush.

He says things sometimes that make her feel things she hadn't expected.

“You give me too much credit though, Mac.” His usual folksy charm is gone, trodden under the darkness of his eyes as he shrugs at her and simply leans a look down the front of her that could melt. Feral, he seems, and predatory. “I would have taken whatever you'd offered. Even if it was just the sex.”

“I didn't offer anything, Will. You came after me. And, frankly, I'm not sure how you've managed to get as much as you have.”

A supposedly careless shrug takes claim of his shoulders, “I _am_ extraordinarily charming.”

She laughs quietly as their fingers lace and twine together and she tugs at his hand, drawing him closer even as she lifts one shoulder to shrugging. “I think it's more likely that I'm completely infatuated with your hands.”

“Talented fingers?” he quips at her, turning his wrist with a quick enough flick that he can kiss her knuckles and lock her fingers up tighter in his own.

“Mmmm,” she agrees on a hum of a sound, drawing his hand down the front of her. “Speaking of...”

He takes the hint and the initiative as he loosens from her fingers, catching the fabric of her skirt up and tugging at her. He's got give and leverage with the flowy skirt, more than usual anyhow. And she likes that insistent jerk of his wrist, the flex in his forearm and the smile he gives her as he lifts gauzy fabric and then strokes his hand between her thighs.

It takes him less than moments to find his way inside her underwear and then both hands are guiding against her hips and tugging at fabric and she's stepping out of her panties. He grins at her, looking damn annoyingly handsome as he winks and teases his fingers back between her legs, stroking into wetness and teasing at her clit. He clips against it with his thumb before he strokes between her folds and then slides a finger into her slowly. His middle finger in and out of her gently, thumb tapping her clit before adding another finger.

“Think I'd let you off this door without getting you to come at least once? After you insinuated that I can't give you a proper - ”

“ _Oh_...” A deep-lunged moan resonates through her and she feels the same as a plucked string on some sort of instrument, like he's just found a way to touch her same as he touches his guitar, beguiling and reverent. It's after the evolution of that long moan that he pushes two fingers deeper inside her, searching for the spot that always makes her whimper. “ _Billy_.”

He's a savior of a sort, and talented too. The bulk of him cradles her up against the door and she lets him control most every inch of her as he finds that spot he's got mapped.

He's got her locked between him and the door, save how her fingers silk through his hair while he kisses her. Because she can't help but moan her pleasure and utter appreciation onto his tongue as he teases her, two fingers buried inside her and his thumb taunting her clit. She sucks on his tongue and draws a groaning up from his lungs as his fingers keep at her, slowly pulling her orgasm closer and closer up from the heat that's gotten all twined and tangled low in her gut. She's got an undeniable urge to crawl up the front of him and she levers her arms against his shoulders suddenly, forcing him to shift slightly and reach under her thigh with his free hand.

“C'mon, honey. I've got you.”

She's never just let a man decide to call her something so near patronizing. Even Brian, really. She always detested terms of endearment coming from him. They always seemed sort of smarmy or sarcastic, more bitter than sweet. It's never the least bit condescending when it whispers off Will's lips, though. And especially not when he jerks one knee up against his hip and doubles his efforts, sucking against her throat as he brings her closer with his fingers.

He's relentless, enthralled by watching as he gets her closer and closer. His fingers are already soaked wet and she closes her eyes from the blue intensity of his glance. Instead she drops her head back against the emergency hotel floor plan that's framed to the back of the door, moaning as he hushes whispers down the front of her. Sweet encouragements turns a little dirty and then back again as the sharp heel of her shoe digs at the back of his thigh, her whole body arching up against him as he adds a third finger and ruthlessly jerks an orgasm out of her. She's utterly unaware of herself as she comes, a long moan sounding off her as she pulls up tighter against him and shudders.

“That's right.” He looks smug as he soothes her but she doesn't mind so much. “Relax, Kenz.”

He's a little cocky in his grinning and there's plenty of swagger all over him as he just shrugs and nips a kiss off her lips. Both his hands stroke down her sides as he crouches his legs into bending. Both broad palms catch down against the backs of her thighs as he leans forward and presses her into the door at once. Mac lets him lift against her, drawing her legs around his hips before she wraps the rest of herself around him and gives up a mammoth sigh. All of her body, the entirety of her slight frame, it just rests into him and she equally loves and hates that moment of vulnerability... When he takes complete responsibility for her, for her movements and her limbs and length.

She feels one hand leave her, the shift of his body angling her upward as he aims to undo his belt and pants and she does what she can to help him. Her laugh bends into saying his name as her hands stroke under his boxers, drawing his attention. “Billy?”

“I'm right here,” he mutters through distraction, somehow one-handedly finding a condom that she didn't even realize he'd shoved into a pocket.

He's got her pinned to the door with unforgivable force and the sheer lean of his weight but she doesn't feel pinched or pained as he kisses her. Instead she feels supported, protected, curled up comforted.

Especially when he grabs for her hand and drags it roughly between them, jerking his mouth from hers so that he can lick along her jaw and whisper up against her ear. “You do it.”

Getting the condom on him has them both laughing but the mood jilts sharply serious when she lines him to her and he drives his hips upward, thrusting hard into her. One hand braces under her and the other reaches upward, finding a way to cradle her close and still keep her head from slamming back against the door with each drive of his hips.

It's rougher and quicker than usual and she knows it's likely because of physical reasons (like his achy knee) and not because she's basically implied that he's not necessarily capable of either of those things. At least, that's what it would probably sound like she was implying. But _she_ knows that _he_ knows that's not at all what she meant – because he spends his time kissing her passionately, holding her up between himself and the door, holding her entirely enclosed and... _God,_ he's not capable of either of those things alone. He is, however, far more than capable in general. Because he can make it rough and quick and sexy as hell with just the same amount of effort as he'd use if it was slow and sensual and deep. There's just as much loving and adoration and affection in it either way - and she's starting to realize that he's dangerous to her because of it. He's dangerous inside her – because she doesn't care anymore how it happens so long as it just _happens_. So long as it's _him_ and not Brian. She's starting to need him more than want him. She's starting to ache in her gut and her lungs now often constrict with a physical need for the scent of him, the heat, the touch. He's become a requirement, an addiction, a necessary component of each day.

Will isn't really an option anymore. Even when stood up beside Brian.

And she can't help coming for him, not anymore. She can't help the urge to give him whatever he wants (despite the fact that some emotional parts of her are still completely paralyzed with fear).

She can't help adoring the way he whispers on her lips or groans on her tongue as he comes for her, most every time he does.

Will McAvoy isn't an option anymore; he's become the end result.

He's managed to eclipse the competition before she could realize he'd even rightly gotten in the race.

“Can I take you to bed now?” His grin lives in the bemused warmth of his voice and she's fairly sure that his pride in his own prowess has hit a high that would be dangerous if she really cared about who could get the better of whom. So long as he keeps her coming, so long as he doesn't leave, she really couldn't give a flying hell, though.

“Yes, please.” She's undeniably limp against him and somewhere in her imagination she can see how silly it probably looks, him trying to carry her to the bed and keep from tripping over his own pants at once. But she doesn't feel silly with him, not the way she sometimes does with Brenner. “Bed is, thankfully, a lot less than six hundred and forty miles away.”

“That it is,” he agrees, chuckling at how loose and lazy she is. “Thank God.”

 

* * *

 

 

It's three in the morning and she's naked, save for a sheet strewn across her hips and tagged down between her legs. Gloriously bare fucking legs, one outstretched and one knee up and calf clenched as she rolls her ankle idly. The pad of her foot is pressing against the mattress as she arches her ankle and she's utterly unaware of how hard the simple angles of her ankle make him as he gulps from a bottle of water.

She's got half the New York Times from the day before laying across her breasts and messed across the mattress. Chestnut colored hair is fanned out over two pillows at the least, one of them supposedly his but obviously confiscated. So long, Little Buddy... There are three empty airplane bottles beside her on the mattress and she's lifting a Room Service menu parallel into the air as she hums to herself and Will realizes, with sudden clarity and absolute certainty...

He's more in love with MacKenzie McHale than he's ever been with anybody, _ever_.

“Hungry, Billy?” She asks, unaware that his entire fucking mental narrative has just come to a crash-and-bang booming halt of a train wreck. All the rest of the train cars are thudding up, piled on top of the ones before.

This is not where he expected himself to end up when he first met her.

She is not at all what he expected to call _Home_.

He unconsciously re-adjusts the waistband of his boxers as he takes another swallow because he can feel the way she's studying his hips before her glance flutters back up.

And he can't control himself, not with those eyes looking at him, not when all he can think is “God, I wanna fuck you forever, Mac. _Jesus Christ_.”

Her eyes widen out a little because that's not at all what she was expecting and, frankly, he knows better than to speak to a woman that way. He wouldn't ever otherwise. He shouldn't ever, he knows. But Mac is... well Mac's the one that he'd say it to about anyone if he dared ever utter it aloud to his best friend. Mac's the one that would usually laugh at him and tease at him and then give him a playful push.

And she may be the only one he could ever say it to, really. Because she's the one to respond with a smirk and “Could lead to chafing.”

“You know what I mean,” he frowns and re-caps the empty bottle, chucking it into the garbage that's been provided near the door.

“You're so charming, Will. The things you say.” Her voice is quiet and low and it's the volume that has him questioning whether she's being sarcastic or serious. Because the inflection is torn somewhere between terrified that he really means forever and hopeful that maybe... maybe he really means forever. And he can't tell the fucking difference when she's lounging naked in bed, accented by liquor and newspaper and bright white sheets.

It's the tentative volume of her voice that has him thinking that she means it, despite hope and fear.

And also the fact that she drops the menu aside, smiling as her head and attention turn entirely in his direction. “Will?”

“I'm starving,” he asserts quickly as he steps toward her, clumsily recovering from how unintentionally soft-hearted the conversation has gone (from his perspective anyhow). “I say we just get a pizza.”

“Think we can get a decent pizza delivered at three in the morning? In Georgia?”

His fingers catch her bent knee and he pulls her legs apart slightly farther, just enough that he can duck into the space between them and stretch down into her. He flops down the last few inches and feels her huff a laugh under him as he drops his head into her breasts. “Doesn't even need to be decent. I think Jordan hates me, by the way.”

She hums a sound of agreement over his head as he burrows against her, cuddling his face into her chest and groaning loudly in comfort. “I think you're right.”

“I have never given her reason to - ”

“I think it doesn't matter what Jordan thinks. Especially considering where we currently find ourselves.” Her hand flicks over the fact that he's mostly naked and she's entirely naked and he's laying on top of her like she's the most comfortable pillow ever created by man. “Did you mean it earlier? Like a real holiday?”

His eyes flutter closed reflexively as her nails tease back up his spine slowly, the touch tickling him into slightly arching. When she sluices her fingers into his hair and digs in, lifting his head, he opens his eyes again and arches her a dry look. “Do I generally say things that I don't mean?”

She simply smiles at him before reaching for the phone, her voice going conversationally gentle as she dials the main desk. “You know... I think I like Georgia decidedly more than I had assumed I would.”


End file.
